


Corpus Meum (English Translation)

by iSABinE



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Possession, Caretaker Sam Winchester, Embarrassed Dean Winchester, Episode: s14e02 Gods and Monsters, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Sam Winchester Takes Care of Dean Winchester, Season/Series 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28908411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iSABinE/pseuds/iSABinE
Summary: Sam helps as Dean struggles with the aftermath of Michael's possession.Something is definitely wrong.Sam looks at the glass on the table and at his brother's hand.The hand moves slowly.It looks stiff, wooden. Dean struggles to close his fingers on the glass, and when he finally succeeds, the water spills onto the table, shaken by the trembling that the effort sets vibrating up his hand and arm.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Corpus Meum (English Translation)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoyControluce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyControluce/gifts).
  * A translation of [Corpus meum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28854468) by [JoyControluce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyControluce/pseuds/JoyControluce). 



> This is an English translation of JoyControluce's wonderful story, Corpus Meum, originally written in Italian.

_ Post 14x02 _

Sam first suspects something when he parks the car and gets out to go into the motel: the passenger side door stays closed.

He’s thrown for a moment, and his mother reaches to open it before he can do it himself.

But he gets close — because there is something wrong with the way Dean's hand rests on the car’s frame — Sam grabs his brother’s elbow and supports him as he gets out.

"Is everything alright, Honey?," his mother asks Dean.

Dean nods and leans heavily against Sam, moving his legs with difficulty as if he were immersed up to the waist in a quagmire.

Sam exchanges a startled look with his mother, then puts his arm around Dean's waist and walks through the door of the motel, supporting most of his weight.

***

Something is definitely wrong.

Sam looks at the glass on the table and at his brother's hand.

The hand moves slowly.

It looks stiff, wooden. Dean struggles to close his fingers on the glass, and when he finally succeeds, the water spills onto the table, shaken by the trembling that the effort sets vibrating up his hand and arm. 

"Dean ..." he starts, worried.

"I'm fine, Sam," his brother interrupts immediately. "I just have to ... get used to this again ..."

"Your body?"

Dean grasps the glass with both hands and nods.

A drop of sweat moistens his temple; his forehead is furrowed from the effort.

The glass rises from the table a few centimeters and immediately falls back onto it with a dull thud, despite the ten fingers that Dean has wrapped around it.

Sam holds his breath as the water spreads across the table, soaking the sleeves of the white shirt his brother is still wearing.

"Fuck!" Dean snaps, slamming his fist on the table.

If he can do  _ that _ , Sam thinks, it will only be a matter of time before he fully regains his motor skills.

He hopes.

He grabs a dish towel and bends over to dry the table.

"It's definitely temporary, Dean," he tries.

"Seriously?!" Dean explodes again. "I don’t remember you having any problems controlling your body after ..."

Sam freezes with the wet rag in his hands.

"After Lucifer possessed me?" he whispers without looking him in the eye. “It wouldn't have made any difference in hell, believe me. Or maybe you were referring to Gadreel? "

Dean's lips curl in a grimace and his jaw twitches.

"Damnit!" he shouts.

He lurches up with jerky movements, accidentally overturning the chair and everything on the table in an unsuccessful attempt to support himself, and he ends up falling to the floor before Sam manages to grab a hold of him.

***

"Time," Sam says again with total conviction.

Dean, sitting on the edge of the bed, his forearms resting on his knees and his hands limply abandoned in the void, raises his eyes to Sam’s face.

"It’s just going to take some time, " he continues. “Rowena is sure of it. According to her, you’re lucky you’re not in a vegetative state. "

"Fantastic." Dean's lips turn up in a grimace. "Remind me to thank Michael for the favor."

Sam crouches in front of him and holds up a bottle of water.

"I’ll hold it for you," he tells him. "You concentrate on drinking."

"Hell no!" Dean thunders. "Give it here."

The tone is final and Sam can't help but give in, and, for a moment, Dean's hand seems to grip the flimsy plastic perfectly. His brother gives him a hopeful look that Sam promptly returns.

Until Dean’s arm starts shaking again, and the bottle curls up in his fingers, spitting a fountain of water out onto his pants and down onto the floor.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean curses again.

Sam gently slides what's left of the bottle out of his brother’s hand and disappears into the motel bathroom only to emerge soon after with a couple of towels.

"Dean," Sam ventures, dabbing delicately on his pants, "if you would prefer that Mom stay with you, you know that I don't ... It's right in the next room and—"

"You're joking, right?!" Dean interrupts, then runs both trembling hands through his hair. "Swear you won't tell her any of this," he adds.

Sam sighs deeply.

"Okay," he promises, "as long as you let me help you."

Dean lifts his face and nods, a barely perceptible dip, his eyes staring blankly ahead.

For Sam, this much, albeit grudging, consent is already a huge achievement.

"How long will it last?" Dean asks in a faint voice.

"According to Rowena, it's a matter of a few days."

"And what do we do in the meantime?"

His voice is hoarse and guttural, and Sam could swear it’s panic he hears creeping up in the strained notes of his words.

He puts his hand on Dean’s and squeezes it lightly, then grabs a new glass and goes back to kneel in front of him.

"First, drink" he says, holding it to his lips. "After that, I'll tell you a story."

His brother's eyebrows go up dramatically, and Sam can't tell if it's more threatening or questioning.

Sam smiles innocently at him, and Dean narrows his eyes.

It only lasts a moment, then a stiff hand lands on his wrist, and finally his brother drinks.

***

"Are you telling me that while I was with Sonny, Dad was seriously injured?"

Sam moves his fingers over the small buttons of his brother's shirt.

He frees them from the buttonholes, one after the other.

He keeps his eyes down, he doesn't want Dean to feel embarrassed if he can avoid it.

“It wasn't a serious injury, to tell the truth,” he clarifies as he unbuttons the cuffs and pulls the sleeves off Dean’s arms. "But it got infected."

Dean tilts his head, curious.

Even the shirt is wet, and Sam grabs the flaps on the hips, tugs lightly to remove it from his pants, and takes it off.

Dean shivers, and Sam hurries to throw him a dry t-shirt. One of his. He has nothing else, nothing of Dean’s, on hand.

"We went to Bobby, of course," he continues, placing his fingers lightly on the zipper of the pants. "But when he realized you weren't with us, he was furious."

Dean looks surprised, eyebrows up, eyes wide.

"Really?" he asks.

"Lean on me for a sec," Sam interrupts, and when his brother moves forward, he pulls his pants out from under his seat.

Dean is so incredulous that he doesn't even seem to notice. Sam smiles, nodding.

"He shoved a box of antibiotics into Dad's hands for the wound and yelled at him to leave and not come back until he found you," he confirms, as he drops the wet pants down from his brother’s bent knees until they are completely rolled around his ankles.

"But ..." a questioning expression forms on Dean's face.

Sam bends over his feet and finally frees him from his pants.

"I don't know if he knew the truth, although I think it’s likely," he clarifies, pushing aside sheets and blankets. "Slip under," he tells Dean. "So you won't get cold."

Dean moves up to lean back against the headboard, and Sam helps him get his legs under the covers.

Sam gives him a couple of reassuring taps on the knee and gets up to reach the table.

"So we went to a motel, and Dad was really sick," he continues as he fumbles with the take-out bags he had delivered to the room. He comes back to Dean with bowl, spoon, and napkin in hand; he sits on the edge of the bed. “He asked me to clean up the wound; I had seen you do it so many times. "

This time he can't distract him enough, his brother's expression darkens the instant he realizes what Sam's doing.

Sam decides to ignore him, puts the napkin in his hands and slowly turns the spoon in the bowl.

"He chugged the antibiotics, but despite that, the fever got worse that night, and Dad couldn't stand up in the morning."

He lifts the spoon and sets it down again immediately, and all the while he hopes that his brother hasn’t noticed, but his hands are also shaking, and he doesn’t even have the excuse of recent angelic possession.

When he looks up, he finds Dean staring at him.

"Okay, Sammy," he whispers softly.

And having Dean’s permission makes him breathe again.

"Well, the next morning," he resumes with a slightly lighter heart, "Dad used his remaining strength to go to the bathroom and then dropped back into bed."

He stirs the soup again with the spoon, and after lifting it slowly, brings it to his brother's lips.

Dean holds the napkin in his hands and opens his mouth.

"Good?" Sam asks after a moment.

Dean gives him a decidedly expressive grimace.

He would like to argue, but his brother gestures for him to continue with the story, and Sam doesn’t have much desire to tempt fate.

“He asked me to make something light to eat,” he went on. "I made him some soup that I’d watched you make before."

Sam brings another spoon to Dean’s mouth and watches him swallow.

"Are you telling me that ..." Dean ventures, widening his eyes.

Sam allows himself to laugh out loud this time.

"Yes," he confirms. "When it was done, I took it and fed him just like I’m doing with you."

Dean looks at him baffled and swallows three more spoonfuls without even realizing it.

"I can't believe it, Sammy," he finally comments.

"He wasn't happy, actually," agrees Sam.

"I bet," Dean huffs, an amused expression painted on his face.

"Anyway," resumes Sam, continuing to feed him, "in the evening he was strong enough to make do alone, but do you know what he made sure to tell me as soon as he managed to sit down at the table?"

Dean shakes his head with his mouth full and watches him with the same attention he usually gives to watching his favorite movies.

"Son, he told me, I don't want you to tell your brother about this, and his tone was so serious, so terrifying, that I couldn't even swallow the soup we were eating," concludes Sam.

Dean bursts out laughing and Sam follows suit. The bowl is almost empty, and the relief that Sam feels is so powerful that he no longer knows what he is laughing about.

"He made me swear, Dean!" he says, bent over the bed as laughter shakes his chest.

Dean laughs until there are tears glistening in the corners of his eyes, and when the echo of the laughter dies, Sam puts his hand on his brother’s knee again and squeezes lightly before he gets up to reach the kitchenette.

"He couldn't stand that you knew him weak," he adds, and he's sure Dean feels something like that about him and Mom too. Knowing him weak. 

"You broke your promise."

Dean's voice comes from behind him while he is still fumbling in front of the kitchenette, after a moment he turns and comes back to Dean’s side.

"Yeah well, it was for a good cause," he replies. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he holds up a plate with a huge slice of pie. "Want to watch some TV?" he asks.

End

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to check out the original author and leave some love!


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